


Fucking Happy

by anomalously



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Sex, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalously/pseuds/anomalously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He gives it to me good and hard, and I fucking like it! Fuck you! I suck his dick, I fucking love it!”</p><p>
  <i>Mickey smiled against Ian's lips when he felt the button of his jeans give under the redhead’s impatient undressing. The button fell to the floor between them, and any other day Mickey would have given Ian hell for it, because that’s the third fucking time he’s done that shit.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Happy

**Author's Note:**

> Been wanting to write kinda rough sex with laughing/smiling, so...? Yeah.  
> Let's do it. Also fuck plot, there is none.

His back hit his bedroom wall behind him; hands holding his hips in place hard enough to almost be uncomfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable in the least, it’s fucking _good_. He punched out a breath of air and laughed roughly, digging his fingers into Ian's hair as he pulled him close; their lips met, and Mickey wasn’t sure who growled between their mouths and tongue, but it sent a shudder through his body. Ian's large hands started moving everywhere, gripping him hard, pushing him into the wall, yanking at his jeans desperately.

Mickey smiled against Ian's lips when he felt the button of his jeans give under the redhead’s impatient undressing. The button fell to the floor between them, and any other day Mickey would have given Ian hell for it, because that’s the third fucking time he’s done that shit. He'd worry about the redhead destroying his clothes later, right now all he could think about was that cock.

Before Ian could shove his hand into his pants, Mickey pushed him away then grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and switched their positions, pushing Ian hard against the wall. Ian let out a gruff noise and grinned, his eyes dark with need.

"Get on your knees," Ian's voice was so thick with want, the tone curled around Mickey, inching down his throat, heading straight for his dick. “I want that mouth.”

“Fuck off, I’m way ahead of you," Mickey said, dropping to his knees. Like Ian even had to fucking prompt him for this; he grinned, looking up at the redhead as he got to work.

How fucked was it that his mouth watered as he unbuckled Ian's belt? How fucked was it that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning at the memory of what Ian's cock felt like in his mouth, hot and heavy, stretching his jaw open? It was fucked, right? So fucked.

After he finally pulled Ian's jeans down, and then his boxers, Mickey licked his lips, wrapping his hand around the base of Ian's cock. He was so fucking hard already. And big. And perfect. And his. All fucking his.

He moved his hand up Ian's shaft and swiped his thumb over the leaking head, taking his time because the anticipation in the air was crackling like lightning, and Mickey loved riling Ian up. He loved him impatient and needy and demanding, matching Mickey’s own restlessness for release. But he had to slow it down a minute to get there.

Ian twisted his fingers in Mickey's hair, breathing out a little laugh, "Don't fucking tease me, come on."

Mickey smirked, dragging his tongue over Ian’s leaking slit, tasting that _Ian_ taste in it’s most raw form. He groaned. Ian groaned too, tightening his grip on Mickey’s hair. Mickey did it again, holding him firmly in his hand. He dipped his head down, tasting up the base of Ian’s cock, breathing hot against him, listening to Ian’s breath become more and more erratic, his hips wiggling, trying so hard to control himself.

“Mick, come on,” Ian panted.

“Impatient little bitch tonight, huh?” Mickey bit the top of Ian’s thigh.

“Fuck — _jesus_ fuck… please.”

He finally drew Ian into his mouth, hand moving back down to the base, which he (so unfortunately) could not fit. The hot, fleshy taste made Mickey moan low, which made Ian buck forward again until Mickey used his free arm to push across Ian's hips, holding him tightly against the wall.

Mickey loved this. He loved taking Ian into his mouth, having the power to draw out these strangled whimpers and dark sounds. He took him as deeply as he could, getting lost, clenching his eyes shut tight when Ian hit the back of his throat. Mickey pulled off of him and used his hand for a few seconds, stroking tightly; Ian’s shifted and wiggled more under his hold, trying to both push him back and draw him closer at the same time. He was getting flustered, too keyed up, too hot and ready for more, not knowing what he wanted.

“Fucking _christ_ ,” Ian groaned out, long and shattered when Mickey took him back into his mouth; Ian’s leg trembled under him while he held onto Mickey’s hair for dear fucking life. Mickey took him as deep as he could, again and again, moaning around him, loving that taste, those sounds, that feel of Ian hitting the back of his throat, the way his jaw ached. _Fucking christ_ was right.

Then Ian reached down, pulling Mickey’s head back, falling out of his mouth, and Mickey couldn't control the whine from the loss. But then Ian hooked his hands under Mickey’s arms and yanked him up roughly; he grinned, letting Ian turn them and slam him against the wall again. Ian’s mouth was on his, hard and biting and tongue digging against his lips, demanding more, wanting to taste. 

Mickey gave it to him, pushing his jeans and boxers down as far as he could before Ian grabbed his hands and pressed them into the wall above his head. Just one of the redhead’s hands wrapped around both of Mickey’s wrists, long fingers biting into his skin; he’d probably bruise —he hoped he would. As Ian was holding his arms up and out of the way, his other hand finished what Mickey started, pushing his jeans and boxers down further. 

Ian’s wet, messy cock slid against Mickey’s and both of them panted from the feeling. Mickey pulled against Ian’s hold on his hands, wanting to touch, wanting that cock back in his mouth, wanting to finish what he started, but Ian didn’t let him go. They snarled grins against each other, Ian wrapping his free hand around both of their erections, stroking them together.

It all went a little blurry around the edges. Mickey’s chest rose and fell deep with his every breath; he hummed and pushed forward, trying to get more contact. They kissed hard and messy. Out of control, desperate kisses —too much tongue and breath and _fucking christ fucking christ fucking christ_ Ian’s hand stroking them like that was perfect. 

“Gonna remind me what the cock can really do?” Mickey grunted against Ian’s mouth, “Or are you gonna fuck around all night?”

“I thought _I_ was the impatient little bitch,” Ian chuckled as he dipped his head, biting hard at Mickey’s neck, sucking and tonguing at his skin; his body broke out in goosebumps and Mickey bit back a keen.

“Just saying, I ain’t getting any younger, Gallagher,” Mickey laughed, riding high on the feeling of Ian’s mouth on him; he loved this, almost felt giddy. 

Ian released Mickey’s hands, clawing at his shirt, tugging it off and throwing it behind him. Mickey did the same, moaning when Ian pressed forward, trapping him against the wall again, skin on skin, cocks sliding together as they rutted and kissed and grabbed at each other. 

Mickey pushed Ian off of him, kept pushing him until he fell backwards on the bed. He ripped his jeans off and the thrill that shot up his spine, seeing Ian like that —flushed, hard as a fucking rock, leaking and ready for him. Ian was fucking beautiful. And his. That cock. That mouth. That boy. His.

The redhead grinned, reaching out to grab Mickey’s arm, pulling him down onto the bed as well. Ian pinned him down, hovering over him, “Turn over.”

Mickey smirked, a thrill fluttering around in his belly. Ian barely gave him enough room to do so, but Mickey turned over onto his front, stretching out under the redhead. Ian caged Mickey’s hips in, his erection pressing into the cleft of his ass; Mickey shuddered, reaching out in front of him and fisting the sheets tightly.

“Need me to get you ready again?” Ian bit at the back of Mickey’s shoulder, his hips rolling, pressing against him. They fucked earlier that day; Mickey had interrupted Ian’s stupid History channel re-run marathon to ride him into the couch.

Mickey closed his eyes, feeling Ian sit up, hearing the sound of a condom wrapper ripping open. “I’m fine,” he panted from the anticipation, trying to press his ass up, trying to get more friction, just _more_. He was so hard, trapped between his body and the mattress, so hard it was almost painful. He just needed some release. Just needed Ian to fill him up.

Ian’s fingers worked him open anyways, slicked up and slowly sinking into him. He kept a firm hold on the back of Mickey’s hair, pinning him down so he couldn't move. It was a dull, stinging stretch that sent little shivers all through Mickey’s body. He curled his fists tighter into the sheets, and chewed harshly on his bottom lip.

“Fuck, gonna be a tight fit like this,” Ian said, fingers that were curled in his hair releasing him and scratching down his spine; Mickey shivered at the feeling, listening to the smirk in Ian’s voice. “How do you want it?”

“You know how I fucking want it,” Mickey’s growled response cut off into a moan when Ian worked a second finger into him, seeking out his prostate. “Come on, I’m good.”

And then Ian’s fingers were slipping out of him, only to be slowly, _so fucking slowly_ , replaced with his cock. It burned sweetly, it was so fucking good and such a fucking relief, being pushed into like that, stretched opened and held down. When Ian bottomed-out, Mickey swore he saw stars.

“Oh fuck,” Mickey whined, forehead pressing into the back of his hand, his other hand reaching back to grab onto Ian’s thigh. Fuck, his boyfriend was big, especially like this. Fuck. He tried to spread his legs out, but it barely worked with being caged like he was. “Ian… _fuck_.”

Ian ran his hands up the length of Mickey’s back, pressing into his muscles, “You okay?”

Mickey turned his head, resting his cheek on the blanket; he nodded, then hummed when Ian laid out on top of his back, pressing into him more, his lips right up against Mickey’s ear.

“Always so tight for me, but like _this_ …” Ian panted, hips barely rocking forward. “Shit, Mickey. Dunno how long I’m gonna last like this.”

Mickey couldn't help but grin, gripping Ian’s thigh harder, pulling him closer, “Better get to fucking work then, huh?”

Ian made a growly noise and bit at the back of Mickey’s shoulder before he sat up again. Mickey exhaled slow when Ian started moving. He took his time at first, holding Mickey’s hips, rocking in and out of him, taking his time. It was so good; Ian gave it to Mickey so fucking good, even slow and careful like this. 

His whole body was heating up. Burn fading away, pleasure taking over completely. Ian rubbed against his prostate —Mickey whined and tried as best as he could to press up and back against Ian, needing more, chasing that cock.

“Fucker, if you don’t… shit —if you don’t get to it soon…” Mickey trailed off, moaning when Ian grabbed two handfuls of his ass, spreading him while he picked up his pace a little.

“Wish you could see; looks so hot,” Ian breathed. “Taking all of me, _fuck_ Mick, take it so good.”

With every thrust, Mickey punched out a strangled breath. Ian grunted and breathed heavy above him, pushing into him, his pace picking up more, holding him down hard against the bed. Mickey tried to stretch out, not knowing what else to do, where else to go while Ian fucked him. He was getting overwhelmed, fisting the sheets, pleasure pulsing through his body; he had zero control over his mouth, and the sounds that spilled out of it.  Ian’s hands moved up to curl around his shoulders, leaning into him more, hips pushing harder. 

The bed creaked under them; Mickey couldn't fucking think, could barely catch his breath, he was gasping and moaning so much. Ian hit that spot over and over again and _fuck_ he wanted to come so bad, could feel it building up. His cock was trapped under him and leaking all over the fucking place.

“Ah shit,” Mickey gasped, reaching out ahead of him, trying to find something other than sheets to hold on to. “I need… fuck, baby, I need…”

“I got you,” Ian panted, laying all of his weight on him, moving his arms under Mickey’s, holding him down by the back of the neck —full nelson style, and god _damn_. He was heavy and deep on top of Mickey, so good. So fucking good.

Mickey's body wanted to lurch forward with every thrust, but the way Ian held him didn't allow for it. God, it was good. So full, tight pressure, Ian's hips hitting his ass perfectly -that sick slapping flesh sound. He let out a string of dumb, slurring groans, mouth just barely curling into a feral grin. Fuck. Yes.

He let Ian do this to him, wanted  - _needed, craved_ \- him to hold him down like this, and it made him… fucking happy. He was _happy_. So he smiled like a dumbass, let a bubble of rough laughter roll out from deep in his belly; Ian laughed too, biting and licking between his shoulders.

“Right there, right there,” Mickey chanted, eyes screwing shut; the side of his face pressed tightly to the bed. “Don’t stop — _fuck_ — don’t… yeah, don’t fucking stop.”

It was building, starting low in his gut, spreading out. He didn't dare move under Ian, not even to meet his thrusts because he didn't want to fuck up the perfect angle. Ian gave it to him so fucking good and was doing everything right, he didn't want to fuck it up.

Ian’s hands shifted form behind Mickey’s neck, to around his throat, “Gonna come for me? M’close baby, come with me — _fuck_!”

Mickey opened his mouth but nothing came out. Fuck, he was right there. His whole body tensing up, about to come untouched, Ian hitting that spot every fucking time. He was so close. Ian pushed into him a couple more times and finally something snapped.

“Yeah —yeah, yeah,” He nodded, feeling Ian tighten his hands around his neck, feeling his whole body come apart at the seams. Ian pressed his mouth against his ear, choking him and pistoning into him hard until Mickey finally fucking broke.

He shook, almost violently, head going floaty as Ian released his hold around his throat, finally able to properly breath again. By the stuttering of Ian’s hips, Mickey knew that he was coming. They did it together, Mickey trying to catch his breath while his body turned to a bag of bones. He was dizzy and numb, but overstimulated all at the same time. It was so much, so good, but so fucking much.

They laid there for a minute. Ian pressing his face between Mickey’s shoulders, his breath hot and ragged against his skin. Mickey couldn’t move —even if Ian wasn’t covering him, he still wouldn't have been able to move. He sighed out a soft noise, eyes slipping closed; Ian kissed up his neck.

“You okay?” Ian whispered against his ear.

Mickey just hummed, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. It was all he could manage. Was he okay? He hummed again; he just got the life fucked out of him, was laying on top of a pile of damp sheets, and had lost all sense of time. Yes, he was o-fucking-kay. He was fantastic.

Ian huffed a soft laugh and rolled off of the top of him, letting out a low groan. Mickey heard the tell-tale rusting sounds of Ian slowly and lazily taking his condom off and tossing it in the little garbage bin by the nightstand, before he flopped back down on the bed, not bothering to cover up.

“Can’t move,” Mickey finally slurred. “M’laying in my own fucking come ’n I can’t move.”

Ian laughed, moving just enough to gently pat his ass. Mickey laughed with him.


End file.
